When the Game Ends
by Andrew Scott.Hi
Summary: Just because Jim Moriarty is dead doesn't mean that he's gone... especially for Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock has been hiding something away in the depths of his mind palace, and only recently has he allowed it to come into the light. Sheriarty Jim/Sherlock Jimlock Rated for mentions of suicide.


**A little Sheriarty story I wrote when I couldn't go to sleep a few weeks ago… Enjoy!**

Sherlock closed his eyes, entered his mind palace, and trudged down to a room he found himself at way to many times lately. Why? Sherlock didn't know… and, he realized, he didn't have time to wonder now. A soft Irish lilt split the heavy silence, as if breaking an unspoken taboo... just like the speaker did with every other rule.

"It must be nice." James Moriarty said, looking very strange in a loose white t-shirt and jeans. Maybe this was the real Jim, crazy, yes, but without his Westwood-clad facade. Just because Jim was dead didn't mean he wasn't done with Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock looked up

"Hm?"

"Being Sherlock Holmes." Jim handed Sherlock a cup of steaming tea, black, two sugars. Sherlock frowned. Jim smirked and continued mockingly, "The one everyone knew wasn't really dead. Though..." He frowned thoughtfully, "I got rather lucky.

"You didn't get lucky, you shot yourself in the head." Sherlock scoffed. Jim nodded obligingly.

"Mmm, yes...But," He smiled. "Death suits me. You should try it sometime." Sherlock narrowed his eyes, and both men sat sipping their tea for a moment. Jim smirked. "It works well for people like us." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"People like us? _You _killed people."

"You know what I mean. We've been over this before. You're _me_." He smiled. "We get _bored. _We're _the same._"

"Blowing my own brains out on the roof of a hospital isn't my usual remedy for boredom."

"Being deads' _easy._" Jim sneered, while Sherlock sat back, scoffing. Jim frowned with mock concern. "Oh. That thing you did, pretending you weren't still alive...that doesn't count." A moment passed in thought, and Sherlock frowned at his, strangely, still steaming tea.

"Why am I even having this conversation?" Jim sat forward, his large dark eyes glinting. He froze, holding unnaturally still as he held Sherlock's gaze with his own.

"Because, Sherlock dear, in all the world, all the people you've met, I'm the only one you can really talk to. We're the only ones who understand each other." He slowly tipped his head slowing back and forth, oscillating, mesmerizing. The edges of his lips turned up slightly in a lazy grin. "Now that you've finally stopped trying to bury me in the depths of your mind." Sherlock grimaced as Jim put on a dull face. "Everyone else is all, 'Amazing, Sherlock! That makes so much sense now, explain it all to my dim little brain step-by-step. Even Johnny boy." He grinned again. "I can can _challenge you._" Sherlock frowned as Jim continued, "The truth of the matter is, I was…" He inclined his head, "_am…_ the only person who can keep up with your mind, and you to mine.

"But now you're dead." Sherlock narrowed his eyes, hoping Jim hadn't noticed the tinge of sadness in his words. To bad. Jim smiled and spread his arms, gesturing to the walls of Sherlock's mind palace.

"And yet here we are, _in your head_." Sherlock winced, searching for any comeback.

"What about Mycroft? Hm?" Sherlock knew it was weak, but if he and Moriarty were the same at all, then they both didn't like losing. Jim smiled down at his tea, then set it down.

"The Iceman doesn't count, you don't like talking to him no matter how smart he is."

"How do you know?" Sherlock asked mockingly. Jim's eyes widened derisively.

"I'm _in your head,_" He said like it was the most simple thing in the world, "Don't be obvious." They fell silent, thinking, for another moment, before Jim spoke again.

"This is so much harder, here in you mind." He frowned. "You keep getting jerked back into _normal, boring-_"

"Real life isn't always dull."

"It is without me." Jim shot back, then spoke again, imploringly, almost whiny, "If you would get a move on and…" He let the unspoken end hang in the air between them. Sherlock stood up.

"You know, I think I'd better wake up and talk to John." Sherlock stood up, and Jim followed, smiling widely.

"I'll be waiting. Don't forget, Darling, _you need me._ I may be dead, but you still need me…" Sherlock sighed and buttoned his suit jacket before speaking.

"I won't. But you'll just have to wait here until you can have me all to yourself." He smiled softly. "When the time comes, when the game ends."

"All to myself? Isn't that sweet." Jim stepped closer, just until they were a few inches apart. Sherlock felt strangely like they were back on the roof of St. Barts.

"Ta for now, Jim." He walked towards the exit, leaving Jim standing.

"You know you'll miss me. You know you love these little… chats we have in your head." Sherlock stopped and turned slightly.

"Yes."

"Someday you'll realize they're all you live for, and then you realize you're being… _counterproductive."_

"And I'll join you, yes. Any other foreboding messages you want to deliver before I leave?" Sherlock asked coldly, but as Jim blinking his large eyes and smiled thoughtfully at him, he couldn't stop himself from smiling a bit back. The last thing he saw before he closed his eyes to his mind palace was Jim Moriarty, dark eyes wide, lips turned up slightly at the edges, wordlessly communicating in the way that only he could.

_I'll wait._

**Yay! I loved writing this little short so much… so let me know if you want to read the story of how Sherlock was first suppressing Jim into the depths of his mind. **


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